


[Heart] Broken

by Box15



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Game Spoilers, M/M, Murder, Spoilers, Spoilers for chapter 1, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Torture, i need to lay off the violent shonen anime, really just be careful of spoilers, spoilers for kiibo, taking the hacking to the extreme for my own amusement, they're together but I won't tag it as such, vague spoilers for other game elements, you'll see why - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-06 03:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11591769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Box15/pseuds/Box15
Summary: [Major spoilers, please read tags for your own comfort!]In my experience, Saihara isn’t as popular with my friends as he is with me. It appears other people in the world seem to think so too. One fan in particular takes it too far.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to a dear friend. I won't mention them here, to save their embarrassment. 
> 
> With thanks to please_give_me_that_pen_back for proofreading and generally just being really nice about this ^w^
> 
> Along with Kiibo, Saihara is my favourite character, therefore they both must suffer,,,

Saishuu Gakuen. Student dormitories. Roughly 3PM. 

Pockets of free time like this were always a blessing. A short window in which they could engage in something healthier than obsessing over murder and their own demise. And by jingo, they were going to make the most of it. 

As usual, it was a fine day outside. The school grounds were big enough for everyone to happily do their own thing. So currently, the dorms were empty, with the students enjoying the sun, each other’s company, or some down time. Except for Kiibo and Saihara, who were currently in the former’s room. They’d been together for some time, enjoying the comfort of having each other. 

They had spent the afternoon on the bed; cuddling, chatting, and generally being sappy. During their chat, Kiibo had picked up on just how stressed and nervous Saihara seemed. He was always shy, withdrawn, and under a lot of pressure to perform during trials. It was understandable. It would seem he had still yet to unwind from last time. 

Having a bright idea, Kiibo soon finds himself massaging Saihara’s back. He’s not very good at it, but Saihara seems to be having a nice time. As he moves his hands away from his shoulders and onto the back, he feels his ahoge twitch. It was odd, considering they were in a room with no wind. But he brushed the thought aside and continued on. It’s always possible it was just a small surge of electricity. 

Reaching the lower back, Kiibo gently kneads the areas either side of the spine with his thumbs. Kiibo’s inner voice suggests that he presses into the spine the with his thumbs, that it’ll make Saihara feel good. Seeing no reason to argue, Kiibo complies and presses harder, whilst rubbing his thumbs up and down slightly. A small grunt came from the other, but he made no indication that Kiibo needed to stop. 

The voice urged Kiibo to pick a spot and really go for it. He had to consider this for a moment. Putting too much pressure onto the spine would hurt Saihara, right? This was a gesture of love and compassion, he didn’t want to send the wrong signals. Intimate time like this wasn’t to be tainted. 

His ahoge shifted again. Once more, Kiibo was prompted by the voice. Press harder. It sounded frustrated. This voice had always guided him before. It had always steered him in the right direction. It was just trying to help him show love. Who was he to disobey it now? That would be rude of him! He had to listen, to go along with it. Kiibo felt his own judgement cloud over, and his body began to move on its own. This felt better, more natural. If he were human, he might’ve made a contented sigh. 

Placing his legs either side of Saihara’s hips, Kiibo dug his thumbs in. The other boy let out a small squeak of pain, and wiggled to get free. He was definitely causing pain now, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. 

Maintaining a firm grip, Kiibo wrapped his legs around Saihara’s waist, preventing him from leaving. The squeaks had been replaced by a panicked voice asking the robot to stop. He was struggling to get free. Just a little bit more. 

Suddenly, a loud crack and a sharp cry are heard. The surprise causes Kiibo’s hands to loosen slightly, and Saihara takes his chance. Going to get off the bed, Saihara finds he can no longer move his legs, and he falls to the floor with an ungraceful thud. 

He knows he has no time to be concerned or shocked about his legs. Yes, he’s paralysed, but he’s clearly still in danger. Why wouldn’t Kiibo listen to him? Doing his best to ignore the pain, he used all his strength to haul himself towards the door. In his mind, he thanked Kaito for the upper body training. 

Meanwhile, Kiibo sat on the bed, just watching him move along. For someone so unathletic, he can move along at some speed. Honestly, he was quite surprised that Saihara hadn’t passed out or died yet. Humans were so amazing, he was starting to see what Shinguuji did. 

As Saihara reached the door, he began calling for help, whilst wrestling with the door handle. Kiibo slid off the bed, picking up Saihara’s trademark hat off of the desk. He made his way over to the door. Seeing the robot approach, Saihara shouts louder, backing into the door as far as he can. 

Kiibo crouches down and grabs Saihara’s jaw, holding it open. With his other hand, he crunches up the hat and forces it into Saihara’s mouth, gagging him. The dorms should be empty, but it would serve as insurance. It was too big, the brim sticking out of his mouth. But soon it wouldn’t matter. With both hands now free, he grabs Saihara’s wrists before the other can wrestle him off. His shouts became louder, but the muffling means it’s all pointless. Soon, the noise stops altogether. Dragging him by the wrists, Saihara soon finds himself back on the bed. Without the use of his lower body, it was impossible for him to gain enough momentum to break free of the hold.

Kiibo was sat on Saihara’s waist, pinning him to the bed. His wrists were held down either side of him. His limp legs were awkwardly positioned, but neither party was able to feel the discomfort. Saihara was wide eyed and terrified, trembling beneath Kiibo’s weight. Unable to close his mouth or swallow, a slight trail of drool was escaping. Seeing him like this, it made his metaphorical heart ache. Saihara is cute, kindhearted and worth protecting. He means the world to Kiibo. The voice expresses words of quiet frustration, angered that they didn’t aim higher on the spine. Their foolishness meant they had left Saihara suffering. It suggested the next move. It was time to end this.

Expelling all the camera film left inside himself, Kiibo silently thanked Iruma for such a useful and versatile feature. It left his mouth like a snake’s tongue, sliding out silently. The film by itself wasn’t all that strong, but Iruma had put a large amount inside him. The amount of wrapping and knotting he could achieve meant that by the time he was done, Saihara’s wrists were firmly bound. The unique way in which he was tied was keeping Saihara distracted, too. That was a nice bonus. 

The taller boy watched intently as Kiibo unscrewed one of the lights on his forearm. Removing various parts, eventually he was left with just the screw. Piercing some of the film, he then jammed the screw into the headboard, making sure his arms were above his head. 

Looking up at his suspended wrists, realisation dawned. All four limbs were out of commission. He struggles with a renewed panic, but it’s weaker than before. The panic is running him out of energy, and fast. 

Saihara now immobilized, Kiibo moves to unbutton the former’s jacket. Soft and insulated, it covered a lot and offered a secure feeling. Yet at the same time it was formal enough, and practical. It was easy to see why he’d wear it as religiously as he did. From there, he gently lifted up the shirt, bunching it up at Saihara’s collarbone. 

Chest exposed, Kiibo took a moment to take it in. If his arms were getting stronger, his chest wasn’t really showing it. It had a small amount of definition, but without his robot vision he doubted he would’ve noticed it. Something that was interesting to note was the scars on Saihara’s chest. They were roughly on the same place on each side, and both had healed well. Kiibo went to touch them, curious. He’d never felt a scar before, unable to get one himself. But he found Saihara staring intently at him, tears spilling over. It felt wrong on a different level, so Kiibo withdrew his hand. 

Pondering if Saihara had any other scars, Kiibo shrugged. This made his shoulder plates lift off his body slightly. Thinking about if Saihara’s job was that dangerous, he gently took off one of the shoulder plates. With it safely removed, it was back to the task at hand. 

Ever silent, Saihara watched as Kiibo placed the corner of the plate against the center of his chest. A bead of sweat rolled down his face. Cool to the touch and pointed, he shuddered. As the edge broke the skin and began going deeper, muffled pleading resumed in earnest. Beginning to move the makeshift blade down, Saihara fought and thrashed to break free, but it was to no avail. Placing his free hand on the base of Saihara’s neck, he pushed down to help keep him still. It was still hard work, but soon a long gash had been created. 

A hat stood between them and a room soaked with agonised cries. As he struggled to get his words out more, the hat’s barrier failed, intelligible words leaking through. Kiibo gave his partner one last look in the eyes. He was pleading to the robot. Asking what he had done wrong, why was this happening. Begging for him to stop. His chest was heaving, desperate to get oxygen in whilst it still could. 

A small part of Kiibo wishes he could stop, remembering vaguely that this isn’t right. But the voice soon squashes the thought. He moves his hands to hold either side of the gash. He slowly curls his fingers inside and under the folds, keeping a firm grip. Leaning forward, he placed a gentle kiss to Saihara’s forehead. A soft, confused gasp is heard. Leaning back up, Kiibo whispers a small I love you before turning off his auditory sensors. 

He isn’t able to hear the sharp tearing of flesh, or the blood curdling screams. Kiibo likens the motion to opening up a book you're excited to read.

Organs exposed, Kiibo uses his basic medical knowledge to start digging around roughly where he wants to be. After a little rooting around, he reaches the rib cage. He starts to force his fingers through the small gaps, fracturing and breaking the curved bones. Removing the pieces, he now has a clear shot at what he wants. The heart. 

Being deaf and all too focused, he had failed to notice the strained cries and chokes of the other. So by the time he had gotten there, Saihara’s heart had already stopped beating. Kiibo paused for a moment. He had died. The objective had been met. But the voice purred in his mind. Asking him to do one more thing for them, to satisfy some curiosity. Kiibo nodded to himself, he’d come this far. He set the plating down on the floor, out of the way. 

With difficulty, he wrapped his left hand around the heart. It was secured tightly inside the chest, as it should be. Having only the strength of an old man, it took several yanks before the heart disconnected from its ties to the rest of the body. Resting it in his palm, he gives it a gentle squeeze. It’s not hard, but it certainly isn’t squishy. It has resistance to it, and an unpleasant texture. The voice makes an mmm of recognition, as if considering something. As he squeezes, blood seeps out of it. Somehow, he can’t help but think of Kaede. 

He has half a mind to store the heart in his chest pocket. The voice reminds him that having a dead heart would make him more monster than human. It then sarcastically adds on that Kiibo is now a monster, regardless. Kiibo wonders what that means. 

But whether it’s stored within him or not, he’s pleased that people can no longer say he doesn’t have a heart. He smiles slightly at the notion. Setting the heart down on the desk, he gets off of Saihara. Standing by the bed, he stretches out his legs. He wouldn’t want his joints to lock up! Absentmindedly, he looked over his shoulder at his handiwork. 

Saihara’s legs were sprawled out, assuming uncomfortable positions. His hands pinned above his head and chest open for all to see inside. It felt like a twisted science practical session, but the only thing he was testing was the extent of his own sadism. His head had lolled to the side, limp. Eyes wide and rolled back slightly, welled up tears still on the verge of escaping. Tear trails stained his cheeks in a similar manner to Kiibo’s own markings. He gazes at Saihara’s neck, then back up to his mouth. A malicious thought enters his mind. 

Kiibo wonders if it’s really possible for a human to eat their own words. To take out his vocal chords and ram them down his throat, through the mouth. The voice negates the idea, before quietly leaving. 

Hang on. What was he thinking? It wasn’t like him to ponder something so violent. Why would he ever want to hurt Saihara, let alone do something so barbaric to him? One of the first things Kiibo ever learnt was that harming humans was about the worst thing he could do. If he failed to obey that rule, he could be reset! Or worse, decommissioned! He felt queasy at the thought. He was a good robot, he’d never do something like that. 

Blinking a few times, he allowed his systems to sort themselves out and for his eyes to refocus. His mind felt… rather fuzzy. Thinking that he’d just had a funny turn, he re-evaluated the scene in front of him with a fresh mindset. 

He knew what had thought was the truth. His laws and Saihara’s smile were two things that were very important to him. So then…

Why was Saihara dead?

...Saihara is dead. 

Not just dead. Murdered. Organs on display, a heart discarded on the nightstand. 

In a rush, Kiibo felt his systems beginning to overheat and lock up. His eyes unfocused, and he quickly looked away from the scene to prevent a crash or forced shutdown. Unfortunately, Kiibo chose to look down, straight at his hands. 

Seeing the blood dripping off of and staining his fingers, Kiibo took a sharp intake of breath. He resisted the urge to scream. He didn’t have any blood, which meant it could only belong to Saihara. Feeling his joints wobbling, he tried to think about this. There’s no way he would have killed, let alone someone so special to him. Yet… 

Saihara was in his room. Fixed to the bed with his camera film and his bolt. It was his armour plating next to the corpse. His hands were the ones covered in blood. The two of them were alone in the room, with no indication that someone else had come in. There was no way around it. Kiibo had committed a murder. 

It sounded like a bad mystery novel, but Kiibo had no recollection of ever hurting the other. He never would have done this if he’d been able to resist. How had this happened? What came over him? If he couldn’t understand it himself, how on Earth was anyone else going to believe him.

Saihara was going to think that he’d taken advantage of him. That he’d used their relationship to trap him and kill him. That is was all just a lie. That wasn’t true! Kiibo loved Saihara! He still does! But how could Saihara understand that now?

Overcome with grief, panic and confusion, Kiibo considered his options. There was no way to save Saihara now. So what to do next? What could he do next?

Kill himself? This seemed a good way to repent his crime. Even out the damage done by offering up his own life. He wasn’t sure if he had a soul or not, but there was nothing to stop him trying to offer it. Escape the guilt, let Saihara know he was sorry. If Kiibo didn’t have a soul, maybe Saihara would at least find solace in his attempt to apologise. Anything to let them both rest easier. 

But… he could already see flaws in that plan. Saihara wouldn’t want that. Saihara wouldn’t want me killed. He didn’t want anyone to die. Of this, he was sure. Kaede was a murderer, and Saihara didn’t want her to die. So why would he want that for me? No. This wasn’t the answer. If he was going to die, it would be done so in a just way after being found guilty. 

Besides, suicide would only put his friends in danger. If they walked in to see them both dead, it would be reasonable to assume a double murder. How would they suss out that he had lost control, killed Saihara and then taken his own life out of grief? There would be no detective to help them, either. Proceeding down that route might get the rest of his friends killed. That isn’t what he wanted. None of this is. 

Confess? That’d be the best thing to do. Tell someone everything he knew, everything that had happened. Make the trial easier on his friends. Let it be over quickly. But speed up his own death? And who to tell? One of Saihara’s friends seemed the logical choice. They had the right to know first. But, For someone so meek, Saihara certainly attracted some… strong willed people. Knowing himself well, he knew that he’d pick the wrong time and end up a punching bag as part of Kaito’s training. He shuddered at the thought. 

Wait? Eventually someone would wonder where they had gone. Eventually someone would find him. He’d take his chances with who. He didn’t understand how this had happened, but he certainly understood how it would end. No matter what course of action he took, he would not make it out of this school. Falling to his knees, Kiibo put his hands on his face and his head to the ground. He wasn’t built to handle his kind of pressure. 

Remorse. Repent. Pray to Angie’s God and hope that his feelings would be passed along. All the while, keeping Saihara and the professor in his mind as he sobbed into the ground. There wasn’t anything else he could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knock.
> 
> Knock.
> 
> Knock! Knock!
> 
> “Heeeyyyy, is my beloved Saihara hanging out with Kiiboy again?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whether you believe he deserves it or not, Kiibo gets his just deserts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to please_give_me_that_pen_back for proofreading and to everyone who supported me in the first chapter, encouraging me to write more. This chapter is a little different to the last, so I hope you enjoy it! To clear up one more thing, Saihara was indeed trans in the first chapter. Guess I was a little too subtle!

Saishuu Gakuen. Student dormitories. Roughly 6PM.

Free time is boring. Dull. Insufferable. 

You’d think Ouma would enjoy the time to himself. To a large extent, he did. But there’s only so much time you can spend pondering and analysing. Soon enough, he found himself needing to do something else for a while. Not that he really wanted to. The mysteries of their situation were a matter of life and death. He felt so close to a breakthrough. But he’d reached a stalemate for the time being, he could do no more for now. So now boredom had hit, and hit hard. He supposed that a break every now and then was important to keeping his mind sharp. 

He wondered if that was how Saihara was able to consistently outperform all others. By goofing off with their peers all the time, the break was big enough for him to shine in trials. He made a hum at the thought. Interesting. 

Pushing it aside, he refocused. This blank slate of time was always a challenge. He wasn’t popular on a good day. Trying to find someone, something to fill his time was near impossible. So as per usual, he had one of two options. Harass Kiibo or spy on Saihara. Kiibo was fun to tease, but he was a little predictable. That said, his over the top reactions were always priceless.  
Saihara was much more interesting, an enigma that never ceased to amaze him. The thought of getting caught watching both terrified and excited him. So mid afternoon, he’d emerged from his hiding place and went out to look for them. He’d play with whoever he found first, not overly fussed. 

But much to his dismay, he wasn’t able to find either. He’d thought himself as the best hider in this class. Apparently not. Time to gather some intel from the others. Unfortunately, braving Iruma’s disgusting speech pattern and the suspicious glares of the astro-sassin’ duo didn’t help, either. 

Mildly frustrated, he headed back to his own room. So, he’d wasted an afternoon. It had still occupied his mind for a few hours. But it wasn’t the result he wanted. Checking the time on his handbook, he mused that in an hour or two, Tojo would prepare an evening meal. He was likely to catch them both then. His face scrunched. Taking the easy way out was boring. 

Before going to his own room, he pressed Saihara’s doorbell. He usually had people call over in the evening, so it wasn’t unreasonable to assume he might respond. He didn’t. The doors were thick, but when it was quiet like this, you could make out sounds from inside. Not that he would know. Pressing his ear to the fogged glass, he concentrated. 

Empty. 

Ouma tapped his foot against the floor at a frightening speed. Think. Those two weren’t smarter than him. Where had they gotten to? It clicked. The two of them. 

Oh. Of course. Slowly, he turned to face the robot’s door. Imagining those two together, his detective choosing a robot over a person? Over him? It made him kinda sick inside. He strided towards the door. He’d take great pleasure in breaking up whatever they were doing. 

Knocking four times loudly, he called out loudly to the detective. No response. Holding in a huff, he put his ear to the glass once more. There was life inside. He was about to smile to himself, his deduction having been proven right. But the noise coming from inside seemed off. 

At first, he thought the gasping was something intimate. Grimacing, his mouth salivated in disgust. He had no room to judge what others did behind closed doors. But if Saihara had found a way to get off with the robot? Gross. But after a moment he realised the sound was something different. Was that… crying?

Much like a voice, Ouma knew people cried in different ways. Identifying someone by their cry was a difficult task, especially when he hadn’t known the class long. Finally, a challenge. Most of their classmates had never shed tears, but he knew that Saihara had. How could he ever forget that doozy of a first trial?

Even in the face of his best friend and pseudo-sweetheart’s death, he didn’t bawl loudly. Saihara was the type to die inside, making a lot of tears rather than noise. A quiet crier, shy and reserved even when vulnerable. Ouma couldn’t help but smile on the inside; it was endearing in a way. 

This cry, however, was much louder. A real sob. It was childlike, in the way long notes of pure pain would drone on. Changing key several times before they came to an end, a few seconds before the next one started. Hiccups and choked coughs were peppered in. In all, it was highly unpleasant to listen to. 

If that’s not Saihara, then… Kiibo? Could he cry? More importantly, why would either of them be crying? They were supposed to be lovey-dovey and soft to each other. He rocked back and forth on his feet. Now he was more curious than ever. This was much more like it. 

Rushing back to his room, he was soon back, picking the lock. He felt genuine excitement about what might happen next, but he managed to stay concentrated. With a satisfying click, he placed his hand on the handle. 

He pushed open the door softly. If his detective was upset too, he didn’t want to look like a dick by barging in loudly. Kaito was sensitive towards Saihara, and they were too close for his liking as well. If the detective favours a soft touch, he can do his best to give it. The door closes behind Ouma, a soft click startling the crying voice. A frightened whine seeps from behind the bed. 

Ouma’s world changes forever. 

Shaking, he does what he always does. Ignores it. Blocks it out. Pushes it away. Mindlessly, he moves around the bed, to the source of the crying. Something to focus on. Bright green text flashes, screaming silently as it scrolls across the collar. The same three messages, a mantra to the both of them. 

Forgive me.

I’m sorry. 

This wasn’t meant to happen. 

Ouma breathes Kiibo’s name, an innate reaction. The other wasn’t meant to hear. Quivering, Kiibo takes his hands off his face and turns to look at Ouma. The robot’s face is red. Red with the blood of his detective. Some of it had dried to the surface of his glassy eyes. Half hardened blood fell between Kiibo’s fingers as he shook. His fabric palms were stained with the colour and scent of death. They stared at each other.

He hadn’t predicted this. 

Kiibo’s eyes are wide and frightened. Upon closer inspection, there aren’t any tears. He isn’t crying, per se, but the noises are all too genuine. Seeing him feel the emotion without making tears was unnerving. Creepy. Bright blue pupils dart back and forth with such speed, he looked akin to a 90’s anime character. An apology is mouthed slowly, a river of explanations soon flowing from his mouth. Much like his ‘singing’, (he wished he hadn't of stalked Saihara that day) this voice is hoarse and rough. It sounds eerily too robotic. 

“O-ouma! I don’t know what happened. We were having a nice time together when… My inner voice. It told me to hurt him. I- I didn’t want to! But, but I couldn’t refuse. My body moved without my input. After that, well, it was like I lost consciousness. When I returned to normal…” 

Kiibo turned up and around to face the corpse, purple eyes following his. 

“I’m… I’m sorry, Ouma. He meant a lot to you, too.” Casting his eyes back down to the floor, he pulled up the black mask to hide his face. 

“Means. He means a lot to me.” Ouma corrects, continuing to stare. It’s still too early to accept it. Why did he have to be the first one to find this? He needed time to sort out his feelings. Rebuild the persona, find the truth, pretend like this was nothing. Yes, he was upset with Kiibo. How could he not be? But he couldn’t bring himself to hate the crying robot. Maybe it was because he rather hollow, in that moment. 

Some air was needed. He needed to figure out why a voice forced Kiibo to kill, and to trigger the investigation time. Feeling that he should move, he gingerly placed a hand on Kiibo’s convulsing back. 

“We have to tell the others.” 

It was out of character for him, but it seemed appropriate in that moment. Nobody else saw. Nobody else had to know. With the inevitable outcome of the approaching trial, no-one ever would. Lifting off his hand, he made his way to the door. 

“Ouma?”

“Mmm?”

“Now that, now that I’ve confessed. It’s over, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah Kiibo, it’s over.” 

From there, time seemed to both slow down and speed up, flowing unnaturally. Leaving the room and finding the others, before running back with them in tow. An eternity. Kaito rushing the robot, rattling the other to the core, demanding answers. A blur. A pained voice explaining over and over that he didn’t want to hurt Saihara, apologising. A painstakingly slow drag. Their classmates doing their best to investigate despite the horror story beside them. A never ending nightmare. 

The realisation that it really was Kiibo, and the call for the trial to start. A welcome relief. 

Usually, trials were heated arguments, hours of emotionally charged shouting and accusations. The discussion going around and around and around and around, one more time, one more possibility. Clinging to the hope that we’ll make it out of this, even if we lose someone along the way.

But it wasn’t like that this time. Investigation and questioning had proved decisive. For once, they all agreed. It only could have been Kiibo. Arriving at the trial with the truth in hand, it was now a question of why, rather than who. 

Initially, Kiibo had taken an onslaught of abusive comments. Shutting down his attempts to reason with his classmates. 

“Trust a robot to pick on the weaker members of the group. You’re nothing but cold wires and bad intentions.” 

“Kiibo, I thought you loved him. How could you be so cruel?”

Why. Why. Why. They kept pressing, Shirogane kept pressing. Kiibo had answered countless times. It all just seemed so unlikely. Kiibo was at best a sweetheart and at worst unintelligent. A planned murder seemed beyond him, beyond what they could accept. 

Kiibo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He stared deep into Shirogane’s eyes. As he spoke, his voice was steady and soft. Ouma imagined that this would’ve been one of Saihara’s favourite features.

“Is it because I am a robot that you do not listen to me? I have told you, I was not in control. I would never have hurt Saihara of my own accord. Surely you will believe me on this, if nothing else. Please, I am guilty, even if I never intended for this to happen. Waiting like this… is cruel.” 

They just had to accept it. There wasn’t any other possibility that seemed viable. Inside, they all knew that Kiibo was just too softhearted to do this on his own. This was the truth. 

In the end, it wasn’t really Kiibo’s fault. But the assailant had used his body to end Saihara’s life. It was impossible for them to know who this person was. How could they have known that someone was watching them, let alone seething at Saihara’s actions? It raised so many questions, but this wasn’t the time or place. At this time, there was only one option. Condemn Kiibo. 

All anger and tension faded from the atmosphere. A feeling similar to that of a funeral manifested. At this point, it was like a cold wind had blown through the room. Sullen and still. Quiet. Solemn. There was no need for a dramatic outing, for someone to do the deed of laying out the whole crime. They were waiting for the end, but no one wanted to start it. 

Eventually, Monokuma offered up starting voting time and they could put it off no longer. All remaining students voted for Kiibo, regardless of their opinions on his guilt. 

“To not just disobey the laws of robotics, but to full on kill a human? Just how much of your youth did you misspend on the streets, late at night? Double the crime, double the punishment, kiddo! That’s just how it works!”

Cackling obnoxiously, Monokuma slammed his gavel down onto the red shining button. For the imminent death of a fellow robot, he seemed to be having a pretty good time. 

The courtroom walls began to open up to reveal the new execution stage. Kiibo showed no resistance to his fate, taking Monokuma’s hand instead of being dragged by the neck. As he walked, he turned his head back. His classmates sadly waved to him, and he gave a small smile in return. It was better that it was his life and not theirs. As long as they were safe. As long as they could still get out of here alive, he was happy. 

Although the students didn’t really understand it, Kiibo’s execution stage was modelled to be a giant 35mm camera. The camera had the back open, so you could see the film reels inside. It owed to his hidden functionality, which even Kiibo was unaware of. This was an execution meant for the viewers as well, considering their part in his crimes.  
The main thing to note with this setup was the two reels where film would be inside a normal camera. On the left was where the film canister was held, on the right was where it curled into a second roll, ready to be processed. Film of course was spread between the two, and would move from one side to the other as photos were taken. On the top and bottom of each reel were teeth, which would catch onto holes into the film to keep it in place. On the left side was where Kiibo was led to. 

He found himself being crudely stuck onto the film coming from the left side. Suspended just above the floor, tied in place with a plethora of camera straps. Going across his chest, legs, head and anything else they could cover, they held him with a pressure almost enough to burst him. He felt his metal insides press against his fabric skin, the contents of his head threatening to rupture. Much more pressure and he’d be a limp sack of half escaped parts. 

Knowing this, he still doesn’t make any move to struggle. There is nothing to be done. This is for the best. 

By this time, the others had gathered in front of the camera, a chain link fence separating the two parties. They wore white rimmed sunglasses that were reminiscent of a 2000’s film about chocolate he had a vague knowledge of. He didn’t have time to wonder why they were needed. 

One of the Monokumarz jumped onto the shutter-release button, causing the camera to take a picture. An uncontrolled flash goes off in an instant, filling his eyes with a harsh white light. The intensity causes a sharp stinging sensation, as if something was singeing inside him. 

Briefly, in the moment of the flash, he sees a memory. Kiibo is sitting at a desk, staring at a piece of paper with a dark blue crayon in hand. On the paper is written a single word; his name. His creator, Idabashi, is praising him for how his fine motor skills are coming along. Kiibo doesn’t really know what a ‘fine motor skill’ is, but the praise is making his proverbial heart soar. 

When the light and memory fades from his eyes, Kiibo finds two things. The first is that his vision has faded slightly, everything having blurred just so. Moving his head to the side to test it out, he found the second thing. He’d moved along a space, slightly closer towards the right reel. Eyeing up the teeth and small gap where the film goes into the right reel, he then looks back at his classmates. With an empty gaze, he realises what’s going to happen. 

He tries not to panic as a second flash takes hold of him. This time he’s standing by a mirror as his creator straightens the hat on his head. It’s his first day of highschool, and he’s putting on his uniform with pride. He knows it’ll be a tough day, but the professor pulls him into a hug and reassures him. The robot returns the hug, promising to do his best to learn, fit in, and stay out of trouble. A warm, yet sad feeling comes over Kiibo as the light fades again. 

His vision had blurred further, a dark border appearing around his field of view. The process continued on, each flash bringing back a happy memory. Sometimes with the professor, sometimes with Saihara. 

Another period of free time. Kiibo and Saihara were sitting on a bench outside, nearby to where the latter now trains. As usual, the sun was coming down in blazes from outside the dome above them. It seemed warmer than usual, so the pair had opted to make the most of it. With the sun so hot, Saihara was without his coat, it gently placed beside the two. A rare sight indeed, especially as the detective used his clothes as a protective layer to feel secure. Reflecting in the sunlight, his white shirt gave off a soft, angelic glow. Kiibo was resting his head on Saihara’s shoulder, on a low powered setting. The two of them sat in silence, watching the school through half lidded eyes. It was peaceful. Pleasant as the memory was, it only served to cause Kiibo’s heart more pain. He missed his partner. 

When this memory faded, the world didn’t return to him. There was nothing to be seen. At last, the flashes had caused irreparable damage to the sensors in his eyes, blinding him. There was no way of telling how close he was to death. Now, panic had taken hold of him. Better him than them. Just… Not so brutally. He didn’t want what was about to happen. He wanted Idabashi. He wanted Saihara, the feeling of warmth between them. 

One more click of the button, the sound of a flash going off. Blinded, he wasn’t even able to experience another memory. He was shuffled along another place. Someone gripped the chain fence and called his name, desperate. This was the end, and he couldn’t say he was ready now that it was here. 

Pain was instant. Forcibly rammed into the small gap, the pressure on his body became too much. His insides rapidly became his outsides, breaking through the armour on his left side and erupting out. His arm, leg and side ripped apart as his armour flew across the room, wires and broken circuit boards soon following suit. There was simply no room for it to escape from his right side, so every internal component was shunted left. He was effectively tearing himself apart, his spine shifting so much that it removed itself from his neck. The reel’s teeth forced themselves into Kiibo’s face, breaking his eyes and caving the entire structure in. 

A flurry of polaroid photos flew out along with his insides, some finding their way to the other students. Kiibo’s left foot twitched as his half empty body went limp within the straps. What was left of his circuits was now incomplete, loose wires extending out from him. Electricity still pulsed through him but with no resistors and no complete circuit, it escaped out of the wire’s end. Catching a ripped part of Kiibo’s skin, the robot was soon lit with fire by the intensity and heat of the electrics. 

The room was silent as Kiibo’s body slowly melted in it’s own blaze. What remained of his face and body started to slide downwards, sinking into the fiery abyss. His hair crumbled away into little more than ashes, the last sparks of backlight leaving his eyes. Only when the robot’s foot fell off did it finally stop twitching. 

Ouma only stops watching when a polaroid lands at his feet. An execution so obviously torturous was not something you could easily take your eyes off. Unmoving, he glances down at the photo. It’s a photo of Kiibo’s hand outstretched, holding Saihara’s. Taken from Kiibo’s perspective, the robot wasn’t visible. But Saihara’s shy smile was. Soft and pure but not meant for him, Ouma couldn’t bare to look at it. A single tear verging on escape, he turns on his heel and leaves.

He walks faster than he means to. He doesn’t want to be alone. How could he bare to be after that? Kaito had hung around with Saihara the first time around. They’d all stuck around before he ruined things the second time. They had solidarity in the wake of death. But he could never feel this way in front of the others, either. Showing weakness now of all times… there was no telling what effect that might have on himself, let alone the others. 

Reaching his room, he falls on top of the covers and assumes the fetal position. Alone on the night after the trial? God, he’s pathetic. 

This wasn’t going to change though. Two of the people(?) he spent the most time with had been lost today. Without Saihara, Ouma feels like something is missing. Emptier, hollow inside. Not that he hadn’t been hollow before, but it was more noticeable now. Harder to ignore. 

A world without Saihara… Boring. Dull. Insufferable. A dark place. So much theorizing out the window, so much potential wasted. He was so wasted. Could he still solve the mystery of him now? He does his best to fight the despair. Think of something else. Mysteries. He likes those. Saihara liked those. In his head, he counts them like sheep. 

The mastermind… Who was watching them… Amami’s talent… 

He doesn’t know the exact moment he stops counting mysteries and starts counting reasons to live. A dry part of his mind tells him he should’ve made of an effort to befriend Hoshi. Saihara’s passing has opened him up to a moment of weakness. Reminding him of everything he didn’t want to remember. The things he tried to forget. Even if he could move passed Saihara, there was still so much wrong. What was the point of him being alive, again?

Mysteries. Dice. Control. Don’t let the mastermind win. Despair is what they want. Whoever they were, this was the desired effect. They must be drinking this in right now. Their audience must be revelling in it. Snorting dryly, he turned over, hugging his knees to his chest. The only person he was going to satisfy was himself. Find the answers, win the game. Control the outcome. Who cares who else dies along the way? The only life that mattered was his, in the end. It’s up to him what he does with it. No one can stop him from winning. Equally, no one can stop him giving up. Who would care if he died? No one controls him. 

The unanswered questions were important. But it wasn’t like he wanted to live beyond their resolutions. He wanted to end this game more than anyone, but he didn’t have plans for life beyond it. If he were to leave his memos out, could the others carry on his work? Harukawa had half a brain, so probably. DICE? He was just one kid. Barely able to keep a handle on himself. They’d live. They’d survive. 

Mysteries, questions, theories. It was all bullshit, really. Whoever was behind this just wanted death. In his mind, there was only one answer. He’d had enough.

Lethargic and tired, Ouma sat up and eyed the Amami statue suspended from the ceiling. At least Amami was never there to leave him in the first place. Alone, again. Before long, he finds himself standing on his headboard, lowering the life size model. A quick kiss is given before it’s set down on the bed. 

Still hanging down from the ceiling, he takes the rope in his hand. Slowly, he loosens a loop in the rope where an ankle used to be, taking his time with his movements. Taking a slow, deep breath, he puts his head inside the hole. He tightens the knot.

This is, by far, the worst idea he’s ever had. He knows that if he does this wrong… it could be 15 minutes, maybe more, before he chokes to death. Fighting pointlessly to get his neck free as his airways strain and his head is pulled. It would be far from painless. If he pulled it off correctly, his neck was going to snap. Even then, it might be a second or two before he dies. That’s a second or two he really doesn’t want to think about.

Ouma’s no executioner, he has no idea how to get the desired outcome. Whichever one that was supposed to be. In time, if no one finds him soon enough, his head might even come off. If someone he cared about had still been alive, he might’ve of hesitated at this thought. But now, they were all the same to him. Besides, they’d already seen some chilling scenes over the day. One more wouldn’t change anything. 

A life taken without an added execution would bring the surviving students closer to the end with little consequence. Closer to the end meant closer to the mastermind, to freedom. They’d thank him for it, surely. No more of his bullshit, yet still gaining everything he had left to give. 

Still, what was wrong with filling his sink with Panta and going out with something he loves? For once. He knows why. Taking the easy way out was boring. 

He takes a leap of faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harukawa sits on the end of Kaito’s bed as he stands next to her, sighing deeply. She looks just as empty as he does, staring into the far wall. Facing the desk, he gently props up a polaroid against a pencil pot. It’s a photo of the three of them, together, meeting up before going to train. It’s a rare moment when all three are smiling together. 
> 
> Sitting down beside Harukawa, he places his hand over hers. They’ll keep going not just for each other, but for him as well. They would continue to be a symbol of strength for Saihara, just as they had before.


End file.
